To Mary, Mother of Sorrows
O Mother of Sorrows,
how often I come here and kneel at your feet,
and see those sorrow-filled eyes
staring up
at the suffering and battered
face of your son,
and still,
you are able to take my hand,
and give it that little squeeze
that says, Have courage.
O Mother of Sorrows,
How often I come here,
and weep all my misery out on your shoulder,
filled with guilt and grief and remorse,
knowing full well the burden
that I have laid on your blessed Son's back,
and still you hold me close,
and comfort me.
O Mother of Sorrows,
How often I have come here,
wanting to comfort you
in your sorrow and your loss,
and found myself overcome with remorse and sadness
over what your son
chose to do that I might live,
and find myself comforted by the one I longed to aid.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
Thank you for despising not my petions,
but in your mercy,
hearing and answering me.
On the Road to Jerusalem One Friday in Spring
Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted - Isaiah
Those coming into the city
may have wondered about the small group
on the hill,
wondered idly about who was being executed
so close to the sabbath,
and at the feast-time, too.
Perhaps they shuddered at the thought
of such a shameful death
coming to them or theirs.
Perhaps they felt pity
that anyone would die that way.
Perhaps they stopped a moment to taunt.
Did they notice
a knot of women
standing close,
oblivious to the soldiers,
or to the mockers,
lost in their grief,
waiting?
Did they notice
how the sky darkened,
as if even the heavens
longed to weep?